


A Silly Series of Flash Fiction (dnd prompt generator edition)

by Mote



Category: Original Work
Genre: Flash Fiction, Gen, dnd prompt fic, each chapter unrelated, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 00:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10560224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mote/pseuds/Mote
Summary: Me: Gee, Brain. What are we going to do tonight?The Brain: The same thing we do every night, self. Try to write something besides nonsense.ORThe author goes to http://whothefuckismydndcharacter.com/ and rolls a random prompt to write a small amount of complete nonsense.





	1. discerning Gnome Sorcerer from Waterdeep who had their lost legs replaced with enchanted wood

Rasner scratches absently at his leg. It’s blooming again, a great burst of purple wild-roses this time. The last time it rained he grew pumpkins. Inconvenient, pumpkins. Less itchy though.

“I’m just saying,” he says, as a leaf breaks off of the knot of his knee with an uncomfortable bone-deep twinge. Or it would be bone-deep, if his legs still had bones. “That maybe we should think carefully before we cut down a glowing tree inside a circle of mushrooms in a forbidden forest.”

The party looks at him. The human warrior has his axe at the ready, poised to cut down what is clearly an enchanted tree.

“That’s how curses happen, you know?”

Another leaf falls off of his leg.


	2. boisterous Gnome Paladin from the endless wastes who is dying of a plague and searching for a cure

“I do have that potion in stock,” the merchant says slowly. Norros beams, one hand already going for his coin purse. “Only…” the man puts both elbows on the counter, hunches over it to stare down at Norris. 

“Only what, my good man?” Norros has been searching for just the right potion seller for weeks. He’s tried seven variants so far, but the wasting sickness still has a hold of his body. 

Its a tiresome sort of plague. Makes him sluggish. Words are a little bit harder to pronounce, keeping food down is a bit difficult these days. It just doesn’t taste as good as it used to. But today! Today he has found a new potion to try! Surely it’s the one that will work. 

“I’m not sure it will work on you, friend,” the merchant says, with some degree of reluctance. “It’s just that you appear to be a zombie, and this potion is for the living. You understand.”

A zombie? A zombie? The coin purse nearly falls from his hands, Norros is so surprised. “You are mistaken, potion seller! It’s the flu, it’s just a bit of the flu.”

The man looks doubtful, but when gold is slid onto the counter, he makes the transaction. “No returns, mind you,” he warns the gnome, but Norros has already turned to go on his way.

He mutters to himself all down the market lane, “A zombie, good gracious. A zombie! Nonsense.”

The baker from the stall next to the potion counter leans over, asks, “What on earth was that all about? I couldn’t understand the fella for all the groaning and moaning. Never did learn to speak undead, myself - they’re just never interested in bread rolls.”


End file.
